Held Close
by ShinkonoKokoro
Summary: Domestic with zombies


A/N: I've been watching a lot of The Walking Dead... I blame that.

Also, I was going to name the boy 'Mark,' but then 'Martin' sounded better and I totally didn't even realise... derp Oh well.

* * *

><p>John woke to a cold bed, immediately awake and alert. "Sherlock? Sherlock!" He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and grabbed his gun, not seeing his husband in the room. "Sherlock?" he called again, quietly, in case the kids were still asleep. "Dammit, Sher<em>lock<em>!" He'd told the bastard not to go out without him. He hissed and scoped the kitchen next. Empty. No Sherlock over experiments. Then he crept to the kids' room and swore violently when their beds were empty. "_Sherlock_!" he roared. No answer. He undid the locks on the door and then crept downstairs, rifle against his shoulder. "Sherlock?" He called more cautiously.

Scowling at the half-unlocked door at the bottom of the stairs, John reached back and adjusted the knife in his belt. Slowly, he opened the door and slipped out, locking it behind him. He cursed at the sound of gunshot some ways down, breaking into a sprint. He kept quiet, rifle ready, loping past burnt out cars and broken glass. Couldn't risk calling out. He ducked down an alley and took a short-cut through the neighbouring building. Buried his knife in a walker's head and shot another as he neared the gunshots. Rounding another corner, John found the source of the gunshots.

His heart lurched.

Sasha and Martin were on their knees, Martin with the rifle back against his shoulder like John had taught him and Sasha holding a pistol with steady arms. Aiming at the zombies across the street.

Alone.

Just as John was about to open his mouth and scream at them, a hand snaked over his mouth and he was pulled back, spun and was suddenly face to face with Sherlock, knife raised to strike down.

"Don't worry so, John."

"_Sherlock_," he breathed. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

"They're practising."

"_Practising_!" John gaped at his husband. "What the _fuck_ are you on about? They're out there facing _zombies_!"

"Of course. Don't worry. I was watching them."

"From _where_?"

"The roof. With the sniper rifle."

John let loose a gusty sigh and dragged his hand over his face, slipping his knife back into its holster. "Sherlock fucking Holmes. What is your problem!"

"John. In this type of society, people are wont to keep their children much too close. Hence, when they are left on their own, they have no viable skills to keep themselves alive. You've taught them to fire. I'm teaching them to fire under pressure."

"Under _pressure_? Sherlock, they could _die_!" John wanted to punch him.

"Of course they could. Any day. At any time. Yet, you've not alerted them to your presence. You know I'm right."

Grit teeth, John opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a cry from outside. Sherlock pushed past him in a second and had his Smith & Wesson levelled for cover. But Sasha had the walker's head off to help her brother.

"Excellently done, Sasha! Right. Enough for today! Come along," Sherlock called, leaning in the doorless doorway blandly. "We're giving your father a heart-attack. Lunch?"

The two turned, Sasha's clever eyes that were all Sherlock's glinting with amusement. "Coming." She tugged at Martin's shoulder and then waited while he pulled off one more shot and then retreated, covering Sasha.

John couldn't help but feel a little proud at the sight. "Alright," he said as they ducked through the doorway, under Sherlock's arm. "Good job then. Lunch? Sherlock, why did you let me sleep so long?"

"Because," Sherlock said with an indulgent smile as he bent his head to kiss John lightly. "I knew you would have a break down if you knew ahead of time."

John rolled his eyes. "I wonder why."

"Because you're emotionally attached to our children to the point where you want to keep them close to keep them safe rather than teach them skills to keep them safe."

"I taught them to shoot!"

"Yes you did," Sherlock said with a smooth grin, voice indulgent. "And I taught them to be cautious and always alert and that life is worth only what your own skills are worth to protect it."

"Your parenting methods give me a heart-attack."

"Love in the time of zombies," Sherlock said casually, giving John's bum a pat before catching up to the kids.

"Sherlock, you're sick in the head."

"Which is why you're still in London with me," Sherlock called back, ruffling Martin's tawny hair. He threw a smile over his shoulder.

John shook his head. Of course it would be practical for their children to learn how to take care of themselves should anything happen to himself or Sherlock. He took his revenge by getting in a vicious pinch on Sherlock's backside as they made their way back upstairs to their flat, all doors locked, bolted, double-bolted, and barred as usual.


End file.
